


nightmares

by CelesteIsHere



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Inspired by The Walking Dead, M/M, and all the characters aside from lance and keith are sorta there also, klance is like sorta there, the violence is like sorta there, this is the first thing ive posted so wooo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 15:49:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10744806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelesteIsHere/pseuds/CelesteIsHere
Summary: Lance and Keith can't sleep, so they talk.





	nightmares

He doesn’t get much sleep anymore.

Not that Lance ever got any sleep to start with,- before it all happened- but now especially. Before it was just insomnia, now he can’t decide if it’s just that, or fear of the biters attacking him and his friends, or the faces of all the people he’s seen die. He doesn’t dwell on it too much. 

He does dream in his winks of sleep, though. He dreams of his family, mainly. Sometimes they’re nice dreams, of what it was like, his Mamí’s hugs, his sister's laughter as his brothers chased her around the house. Family reunions, trips to the beach, teaching his little cousins how to swim. Other times they’re bad. Most times they’re bad. Blurry, rushed images of the biters ripping his Papí’s throat out, ripping Veronica's shirt as they grab her, Mamí’s screams as she watched her children get torn apart. Him, standing frozen in the doorway with an abandoned bag of groceries at his feet, watching it all happen. Lance always wakes up with tears on his face. 

He rubs a hand over his face and sits up. They’re camped out in the woods again; Shiro said it provided more cover and resources. Pidge had tied clothes lines adorned with empty tin cans and bottles around the trees surrounding them as a makeshift alarm. It’s smart; if any biters walk into them, they’ll be heard. Most things Pidge did were smart, so Lance really shouldn’t be surprised. 

His gaze wanders across the temporary camp. Allura is curled up next to Coran. Her bandage on her arm needs to be changed again; he can see the the dark color of blood staining it even in the dim light from the dying fire. Hunk is laying on his back with Pidge sprawled out on his chest. Shiro lays across from him, actually looking relaxed in his sleep. Keith is awake, sitting on his jacket and leaning on a tree. If Lance squints through the dark, he can just make out a pistol sitting loosely Keith’s hand.

“You really gonna protect us with a gun, Keith?” He taunts in a quiet voice, rising to his feet. “Am I making this up, or aren’t you the worst shot in the group?”

Keith throws him a tired glare over his shoulder, but doesn’t answer him.

Lance sits down next to him with a sigh. “Go get some rest. I can take watch.”

“No,” Keith shakes his head and rubs his eyes with his free hand. “I can’t sleep.”

Lance huffs out a laugh, “Me, neither,”

They sit in silence for a while, listening to each other breathe and the sounds of bugs and nocturnal animals in the forest. Lance likes these moments the most, where he can just sit and not do anything. Where he doesn’t have to worry about how much food or water or ammunition or medicine they have left, or how Allura’s bullet wound is getting worse and they need to find a doctor, or if he’s talking too loud and the biters will hear him. He can pretend everything’s somewhat okay under the starry sky and in the cool air of the night.

“Do you ever wonder how this started?” He asks absently. He looks over at Keith to see him looking at the ground, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Yeah,” He says after a pause, then meets Lance’s eyes. “My theory is that the US government was working on some biological weapon- because they’re sick fucks- and messed up somehow. A scientist or something got bit or scratched, didn’t think much of it, went home to his wife and kids. He attacked them, and then… Y’know…” He gestures around them. “Then this happened.”

Lance raises his eyebrows. “That’s a lot more… Plausible than I thought it would be coming from the guy who firmly believes in Bigfoot-”

“Okay, I don’t believe in the singular creature, but do I think there’s a species of Big… Feet that live in the north west of the US, Canada, and Russia? Yes.”

“Didn’t ask,” Lance laughs. 

“Whatever,”

Lance swears that he could see a ghost of a smile on Keith’s lips. He studies his face, his hooded eyes caught in dark circles, high cheekbones, cheeks that are probably a bit too sunken in, thick, pink lips Lance wants to capture between his own. He startles and turns away when he sees Keith's grey eyes meet his.

“What?” Keith mumbles.

“Nothing! Uh, you should get some rest. You look really tired.”

“I am, but… I don’t really want to sleep.”

Lance gives him a questioning look.

“Nightmares,” Keith fills in.

“Oh,” He sighs. “Yeah, that’s why I’m not sleeping.”

It’s quiet again. It’s not necessarily an uncomfortable silence, but it’s not a nice one either. 

“What do you dream of?” He says before he can think about it. He internally winces, damn, why does he always do that? He looks over at Keith and immediately feels awful. Keith actually looks sad. Lance has seen him angry, scared, hopeless- hell, he even saw him cry from frustration once- but never this. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“No, it’s fine. I don’t mind.” Keith looks at him, then the ground again. “They’re all really vivid. Sometimes I wake up, and for a little while I don’t know if it was a dream or a memory. They’re mainly about you guys dying or killing me, which sucks. What about you?”

Lance swallows. “My family.” He says plainly. He doesn’t add anything else, but Keith seems to understand, and doesn’t press. 

He hears fabric shuffle next to him, then a weight on his side. He looks down and sees Keith laying his head on his shoulder. 

“What are you-” 

“I’m cold. Don’t read into it.” Keith snaps. 

Lance chuckles, and doesn’t bring up how Keith was sitting on his jacket. “Alright.”


End file.
